


In Revolution

by Skylark



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Drabble Collection, Fanmix, Flash Fic, Fluff, Graphics, M/M, This is not songfic I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A flashfic/fanmix mashup...thing.  A forty-year friendship told in twelve parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> Graphics & betaing are by the lovely [](http://chrysa.livejournal.com/profile)[**chrysa**](http://chrysa.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Full .zip download at the end.

_Arms_  
(Christina Perri)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/jct6gudx5cdkudeo4p9g)  
  
 _I hope that you see right through my walls  
I hope that you catch me, because I'm already falling  
I'll never let a love get so close  
You put your arms around me and I'm home_  


  


Erik feels an alien brush against his mind for the second time in his life, and his body jerks, rejection slamming hard across his brain. Charles twitches in his sleep. Erik watches him, eyes wide, until Charles's brow smooths and his breaths even out.

It wasn't a threat; it wasn't even a conscious action, but Erik can't relax. That brief contact has unearthed the memory of stale air in his lungs and rage pounding beneath his skin, the cold water piling higher over his head. He remembers emotions that aren't his own—fear, fear _for_ him, beating like a bird's heart against his waning consciousness, and the desperate desire to save something worth saving, not for his usefulness but because of his simple humanity.

After a few minutes, he opens his eyes and finds Charles's gaze fixed upon him. The two men consider each other: less than acquaintances, more than friends. There's still a remnant of that worry in Charles's eyes, and no trace of fearfulness.

Erik begins to turn thoughts over in his mind, wondering if this stranger can see each one as it passes. Here is the thought that stays: Erik can remember the last time he was seen as something more than a weapon, and it was very, very long ago. He imagines the words typed upon a white sheet of paper and holds it up, waiting until Charles's expression changes.

"Erik," Charles whispers, "you don't have to be alone." It's nothing that hasn't been said before, but there's an intimacy to words shaped so carefully by tongue and teeth.

"You know what I can do," Erik says. "What I have done."

Charles nods. Erik's shoulders relax, but his mind forms the unspoken question, stark monospaced letters, no punctuation.

 _Because I trust you,_ Charles says quietly, and there's a comfort in that contact too, for all of its newness.

When Erik says nothing, neither accepting nor rejecting, Charles takes a breath, settles into a tiny hollow of Erik's mind as if it's already been prepared for him, and waits.

Erik closes his eyes and lets him stay.

* * *

 _Hearts A Mess_  
(Gotye)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/i3b6x4mca597tkqdqdfm)  
 _Your heart's a mess  
You won't admit to it  
It makes no sense, but I'm desperate to connect  
And you, you can't live like this_  


  


He follows Erik down the hallway, hurrying to match his long strides. Erik is bristling, and Charles doesn't know why.

"Erik," he finally says, "please, slow down, I—"

"I wasn't expecting you to agree with me," Erik says.

"Of course I would," Charles replies. "You were right." He reaches for Erik's arm and tugs until he stops. "We—understand," Charles continues, "in a way that others can't."

The two of them are alone in the hallway, whose white walls and fluorescent lights make it seem to stretch on forever. Erik's mind is crowded with warring impulses, and Charles's eyes soften as he overhears the din.

Charles had been a child who used to sit motionless for hours until birds would alight upon his palm and eat the seeds gathered there. He understands Erik's wariness, how at any moment he could take flight. He can wait, he tells himself as he watches Erik search his face. He will wait. Somehow.

"We'll find them together, my friend," Charles says, and undercuts his gentle tone with a hearty slap on the shoulder. Erik scoffs, and Charles chuckles. They continue down the hall side-by-side.

* * *

 _Gravity_  
(Vienna Teng)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/m1qsqdd75lufr9rgossn)  
  
 _I am a constant satellite  
Of your blazing sun  
My love, I obey your law of gravity  
This is the fate you've carved on me_  


  


When Raven first fell in love, Charles remembers being woken in the night by giddiness, losing hours of studying to a feeling of deep contentment, the quiet ache of the endless summer holiday. He recalls dreamily smiling at Raven's boy in class before coming back to himself and pleading with her to quiet down.

Besides this second-hand experience, however, Charles has never felt love himself. He's felt affection, of course, and attraction, and a magnanimous concern for everyone he comes in contact with, but never love.

Not until he realizes that he's staring at Erik with a familiar sort of loopy smile on his face, and there's no one to blame it on but himself.

Charles discovers that the feeling is entirely selfish, nothing like what he's experienced before—an overwhelming urge to catch, to keep. He orients himself towards Erik's presence no matter how hard he tries not to, and he seeks him out thoughtlessly. The long hours they spend on the road together only make it worse. Charles starts to stammer, then starts to back away. Erik gives him looks that are too knowing for his liking, but doesn't comment.

In the end, three things prove to be Charles's undoing. The first is 30-proof beer; the second is Erik's eyes, gorgeous in the bar's low light; the third is Erik himself, who leans in as the hours pass until Charles is hyper-aware of every place their bodies touch. Erik's presence is warm and comforting, making him feel like a cat in the sun.

"Love," Charles murmurs against Erik's shoulder, half-asleep.

After a moment, Erik reaches up to card his fingers through Charles's hair, slow and deliberate. Then he pays the tab and says, "Let's go."

  


* * *

_Underneath the Sycamore_  
(Death Cab for Cutie)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/cvjkvzk9ptvnt13dmj2t)  
  
 _But you have seen your darkest rooms  
And I have slept in makeshift tombs  
And this is where we find our peace  
Oh this is where we are at least_  


  


Erik breaks the lock to the roof of their motel, and Charles reads him the stars.

Erik sees the constellations as a navigation tool. Charles knows them as a map of ancient stories. To him, the big dipper is a mother bear reunited with her son. An inverted W is a woman sentenced to dangling upside-down in the sky for eternity. A great square tells the story of a winged horse and a man left broken and maimed by his pride, chasing a dream from his youth for the rest of his life.

Erik pays little attention to the details. He's too busy laughing at how ridiculous the stories are despite Charles's growing frustration. "You just don't understand," Charles insists, "it's really quite fascinating. The cultural values behind these stories, what they imply about the ancient Greeks—"

"Whose societies fell thousands of years ago," Erik interrupts. "I can't see how old, made-up stories can be of any use to us right now."

"It's not a use that can be measured practically, perhaps," Charles retorts. "Its value is in the enrichment of the soul, in what it tells us about humanity."

"I already know everything I need to know about humanity," Erik says quietly.

Charles goes silent.

"We're running out of time," Erik presses. "We have to focus on what's important. What's real."

"Not long ago," Charles murmurs, "people like you and I were stories, just like these."

"I'm not saying the past isn't important."

"No," Charles says, "but—I wasn't looking for an argument tonight, Erik." Charles turns his head to stare at him in the starlight. "I grew up on stories like these," he says, quieter. "I was just—"

They're both lying flat on their backs, pillowed by their jackets, and the air is heavy with summer heat and the smell of tar. The sky above them sparkles like broken glass. Erik rolls to rest his weight on his elbow and leans over Charles, who looks up at him with a wry sort of nervousness.

"When I was a boy," Erik says, "I used to cheat at jacks."

Charles stares at him, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face, before he starts to laugh. He reaches up, shoulders trembling as he buries his face in Erik's shirt. Erik chuckles and rolls so that Charles is on top of him, pressing him back into the gravel's sharp points. The light in Charles's eyes changes into something else entirely.

  
The next morning, Charles makes a sound of annoyance as he shrugs into last night's shirt.

Erik casts him a glance. Charles is frowning at a small tear by his left cuff. "It must have torn last night. The door, perhaps—you did quite a number on it."

"I'm sure having one less shirt won't cause you any trouble," Erik says, but takes Charles's wrist to examine the damage anyway. Charles's pulse is steady beneath his fingers, his skin soft when he runs a thumb across it. His nail catches in the tear and draws the cloth taut.

When he looks up, Charles is watching him with his head cocked slightly, and he realizes that he's been holding on for a while.

Erik drops his hand and turns away from Charles's fond smile. "Come on," he says, clearing his throat, "I'd like to make Raleigh by this evening."

(Years later, the tear has grown large enough to hook a finger through, the edges softly frayed.)

* * *

  
 _Costume Party_  
(Two Door Cinema Club)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/8r2v8qy99ljvfiq39bh2)  
  
 _It's what you get when you try to educate a black sheep—  
You can't, you won't, you never will  
I'm gonna show you what it takes to see the future  
It's hard but not impossible_  
  


  


Erik loses his mind a little.

This is everything he wanted, _everything_ he wanted, Shaw's eyes wide and unblinking as he dies, inch by slow inch, at Erik's hands. Killed by his own weapon. It's everything he dreamed of, more. Joy and despair bubble up in his throat.

When he comes back to himself, his laughter is fading from the ruined walls, and he's on his hands and knees. His cheeks are wet. Shaw is a crumpled heap before him, his eyes still staring. Erik knows that Charles has gone, that he'll find him outside, waiting.

It's over, and the relief of it feels somehow wrong but no, it's just too much to process but he has no time. He straightens and lifts Shaw into the air—it's so easy, everything is so easy now. The metal sings from miles away as the missiles turn towards the beach, and he wants to laugh—it's so predictable. But it's not a threat, not anymore. Not when all this power is within his reach, and he no longer needs Charles's help to move mountains.

Shaw is dead and the war is just beginning. Erik has the enemy in his sights and knows that the others will understand once they see what he is seeing, once they see humanity's true face. Even Charles will see.

Their protégés stare at him as if he's a monster, Shaw's mutants watch with detached interest, Charles is bleeding out in his arms, _We're brothers, you and I...we want the same thing._

"We do not," Charles whispers, and Erik finally wakes to see a friendship lying shattered on the sand.

* * *

 _Preparedness_  
(The Bird And The Bee)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/lan0l72iu36ogjd21ix5)  
  
 _Are you prepared for the atom bomb?  
Are you prepared for my aching arms? (Are you prepared?)  
Are you prepared for serenity? Are you prepared to disagree?  
Are you prepared—are you prepared for me?_  


  


Ten repetitions, fifteen pounds each.

Charles feels his shoulder muscles bunching as he raises the weights above his head, back straight, breath a slow exhale. The sun pours over him through the open windows, and sweat trickles down his neck as he holds, then slowly retracts.

Charles has discovered a comfort in being alone, in not having to project a constant sense of pleasant calm. No one bothers him when he's exercising, by some unwritten rule, and it's the only time he relaxes his shields, drops his slight smile, and throws himself into the endless repetition until he's too exhausted to think about anything. Anyone.

Still, he only allows himself the luxury of isolation for an hour a day. There's simply too much to do. The Brotherhood is at large, and he has such little time in which to find and train more students before the fighting begins. He helps Hank rebuild Cerebro, creates lesson plans, hires staff, and coaxes the others to rest when they can. His day begins before dawn and ends well after midnight. When Hank tells him to slow down, Charles asks him how long it will be until he can increase the weight he's been lifting.

He's the only leader they have left, after all. Erik and Raven are gone—gone, and he won't be stopped by something like this. It's just an obstacle. Obstacles can be overcome.

Charles raises his head from his palms, settles his hands against the chair's locked wheels, and lifts himself up.

* * *

 _Me In You_  
(Kings of Convenience)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/7e4eihxmscf5pl4f8o62)  
 _  
But ooh, there's a little bit of me inside you  
Gathering what you've lost  
But ooh, there's a little bit of you in everyone  
Can never keep a secret_  
  


  


There are no run-ins during recruitment, something which Erik had expected and prepared for. Instead, he finds himself reading Charles's papers, which he still publishes through Oxford University. He is, after all, the leading authority on genetic mutation.

Erik has no idea how he manages to get the papers published, but he thinks it has something to do with how...convincing Charles can be, if he wishes. There's no contact information at the end of the articles.

Between the lines of dry academic discourse, Erik can see Charles's message: these mutations are real but the people affected are also real, and they should be studied and respected, not feared. Knowledge is power. Knowledge lessens fear. Charles is trying to create equality between mutants and non-mutants in the only way he currently can.

Erik shakes his head, but doesn't stop reading.

  
He's surprised to find himself mentioned in a paper a few months later.

It's a case-study-style discussion of the wide variation that mutations can have, and how those mutations can be used. Erik's not mentioned by name, of course. Charles had the pleasure of knowing Mr. L for several months in 1962. He had the incredible power to manipulate magnetic fields, a talent with several practical applications and which saved Charles's life on more than one occasion. In particular, there was one incident where Mr. L was able to stabilize and protect them both during a vehicular accident. They parted ways later that year, but his potential was immense and his abilities could only increase with time.

At the end of the paragraph there is a single sentence. _Mr. L was one of the most brilliant men I have ever known,_ it reads, _and I have always regretted losing touch with him._  


* * *

 _Hallelujah_  
(Jeff Buckley)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/rrvt9j0y0uc5pjhi1jkm)  
  
 _I used to live alone before I knew you  
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
And love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_  


  


When Erik walked away, he left only one thing behind.

Charles keeps the photograph tucked in the bottom drawer of his desk, in the furthest corner of his bedroom. It's black and white, small, and awkwardly cropped. Every few months, Charles takes it out and sweeps the dust from its surface before he looks at it.

Erik in the photo is not laughing; if anything, his smile is strained. Charles knows that it was taken along the south wall of the mansion, but has no idea who took the picture, or when. Erik stands with studied ease and his eyes are clear and focused, as Charles remembers them to be. Always guarded.

He wonders how Erik looks now. Even a few years can leave traces on a person's face, especially if those years are full of worry and pain. He knows _he_ looks different: a few weeks before he'd found an old photo album from when he received his doctorate. He'd had less wrinkles and more hair, smiling and proud with a young blond girl on his arm and the world at his feet.

This, Charles thinks, staring at Erik's frozen smile, is the part where he should think of something to send across the distance. Something trite, or longing, or bitter. But Charles doesn't know what to think, so he thinks nothing at all.

  
Continents away, Erik rolls a deformed bullet between his fingers.

* * *

 _The Scientist_  
(Coldplay)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/3psv66o9tajobzxk095o)  
  
 _Questions of science, science and progress  
Do not speak as loud as my heart  
And tell me you love me, come back and haunt me  
Oh and I rush to the start_  


  


Erik has rehearsed several scenarios. They're always full of pride and passion—nothing like this strangely bloodless introduction where Charles's eyes are calm, his thoughts shielded from Erik by the helmet he wears.

He hadn't expected Charles to open the door to his room and greet him as if he were an expected guest or invite him in and offer him a drink. He hadn't expected him to listen, and now he finds he does not know what to say.

"You've changed," Erik says.

Charles gives a little shrug. "As have you," he replies. Something like a smile creeps into his expression. "The years have been kind to you."

Erik shakes his head. "These are trying times, for all of us." When Charles says nothing, he stares down at his martini. He wonders how much Charles still remembers, how many small details live on in his head.

The silence stretches for a few minutes. Erik considers and dismisses a dozen conversations, his frustration growing. Finally, Charles sighs. "Come."

He leads Erik through the mansion, speaking in low tones. Their way is illuminated by the moonlight that streams through the tall windows. Charles shows him dining halls turned into classrooms, basements turned into training facilities. He tells stories of the things they've done to help the students settle in, how they've handled everything from homesickness to dyslexia. Charles gives no specifics, and Erik asks no questions.

Neither of them mention the ramps and elevators.

The tour ends outside. The building is imposing and shadowy, housing a dozen of their kind, all young, peaceful, and cared for. All given a chance.

Charles looks at the mansion with such fondness, his face in profile. Before he can think about it, Erik's hand lifts to rest on Charles's right shoulder. Charles tenses at the touch and stares at Erik's spread fingers before he turns his face away. There's a moment of silence.

Slowly, Charles's left hand reaches across and up. His fingers find the waiting spaces, fill in the gaps until their hands are interlaced.

"You must come again," Charles murmurs. His voice is soft and unbearably sad.

Erik kneels before him, looking up into his downcast eyes. Charles looks away, but Erik cups his face with his free hand, coaxing him back until their eyes meet. "Yes," Erik whispers, wishing that there was _more_ but knowing that this is all they have, for now. "I will."

* * *

 _Romantic Comedy_  
(Stars)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/4yhly89nhgz5qeercxuo)  
  
 _You pick the curtains and I'll pick the sheets  
The silver anniversary will be the next time we meet  
I loved you before and I'll love you 'til then  
You're my foe and my brother and lover and friend_  


  


Charles sends Erik newspaper clippings of possible places. Erik narrows down the choices, and Charles goes to see them alone, then writes to discuss his impressions.

The house they decide upon is small and secluded, a few hours north of the mansion. It's hidden in the foothills, and a stream runs a short distance away from the back porch.

They take a week off from the war and spend it somberly discussing curtains and silverware, how many wine glasses to buy (two, they decide—it's not as if they're expecting company) and split the costs as they go.

  


Charles sees his shirts beside Erik's in the drawer and thinks it's something of a miracle.

Later, they go fishing.

  


Erik stares out the window at the dark forest that surrounds them, his mind peacefully blank as he does the dishes. The kitchen is lit with butter-yellow light, strong above the sink and fading to shadows in the corners. Chopin wafts in from the living room beyond, blending with the sound of clinking glass.

He turns off the faucet and walks into the living room, still wiping a plate dry. Charles is sitting at the desk, tapping a pen against his lips as he reads. As Erik draws closer, Charles turns, instinctively covering the paper with one hand.

"What is it?" Erik asks.

Charles looks apologetic. "A letter to a colleague. I'm sorry—it's just that the—"

Erik isn't listening. He's reading the note through Charles's fingers, his eye catching on too-familiar terms. Charles sighs as Erik's frown deepens. "I'm sorry," he repeats, quiet.

Deliberately, Erik sets the plate down on top of the letter. Charles's eyes track him, caught somewhere between curiosity and concern, as Erik positions himself between Charles and the desk and pushes back until they bump against the couch.

"Not here," he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin below Charles's ear. Charles shivers, his head tipping back. Erik kneels as his lips move down the exposed throat, his hands undoing Charles's buttons and sliding the shirt from his shoulders.

"Oh," Charles gasps, reaching for him, "Erik," and then Erik's mouth finds the soft juncture where his neck meets his shoulder and he loses words altogether.

A week later, they're enemies again.

* * *

 _You Have My Attention_  
(Copeland)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/5bhox6mq8p3pye7k07fz)  
  
 _Quiet now, your voice seems miles away  
Yet somehow, I hear your song resound  
A little bit softer each day  
And from my tired heart, a little bit farther away_  


  


When Erik sleeps, Charles's mind is drawn to his dreams like a magnet.

It had started when they were young men, and now Charles thinks that he is far too old to break the habit, that it's far too late for both of them. Erik's dreams are nothing like his dreams were years ago, but they are still full of fire for a future he will find a way to build if it kills him. (Sometimes, in his dreams, it does.)

He considers it a gift, but there's a particular pain that comes with feeling Erik so close and so far. If Charles closes his eyes, it's too easy to pretend that Erik is resting beside him in the dark. The faintness of the contact could be attributed to Charles's shields; perhaps Erik's breathing is synchronized with his own.

There are nights when Charles finds his late-night reading undisturbed, and those nights worry him most. Erik loses sleep only when there's no choice: when a battle is on the horizon, when he's unconscious, and, once a year, because of a long-ago battle on a faraway beach.

Charles opens his eyes and studies the empty pillow beside him. _Sleep well, old friend,_ he whispers, and settles in to stand watch over Erik's dreams.

* * *

 _Old Friends_  
(Simon & Garfunkel)  
[♫](http://www.box.net/shared/49v6nfn54qin1pa28xpx)  
  
 _Can you imagine us years from today, sharing a park bench quietly  
How terribly strange to be seventy  
Old friends, memory brushes the same years  
Silently sharing the same fears_  


  


Erik says, "I have known you for forty years."

Charles says, "I have known you my entire life."

  


* * *

[DOWNLOAD](http://www.mediafire.com/?w0dw0y9mupz3oep)

**Author's Note:**

> —If you noticed the inconsistent spelling of "Hearts A Mess," that was intentional and _it's not our fault._ Even Gotye's official website uses various spellings within the same page. We just followed his example.  
>  —"Underneath the Sycamore" is the story of why Charles has a favorite shirt from [words of love along the wires](http://archiveofourown.org/works/226482). The big dipper is part of Ursa Major, the W is Cassiopeia, and the great square is how you find Pegasus. (Google it?)  
> —"Me In You" takes ridiculous liberties with the world of academic publishing. Sorry about that.  
> —"Romantic Comedy" fought tooth and nail to be turned into its own fic. I just barely reined it in, sigh. How often they go to their cottage varies. Sometimes it's once a year, sometimes more, sometimes less...sometimes they spend a weekend, sometimes a month.  
> —Thanks again to [](http://chrysa.livejournal.com/profile)[**chrysa**](http://chrysa.livejournal.com/) for the gorgeous graphics, patient betaing/hand-holding, and for suggesting "The Scientist." She made a beautiful graphic for "The Scientist", too, which you should [totally check out](http://discluded.tumblr.com/post/6895164110/nobody-said-it-was-easy-its-such-a-shame-for-us).
> 
>  
> 
> //compiled 10 Jun 2011 to 3 Jul 2011; written 29 Jun 2011 to 5 Jul 2011


End file.
